Unhappily Ever After
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: *CAT* Holonovels. Sounds like a good idea, doesn't it? Um...yeah, NOT.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Blah. I'm tired of doing these. When DC renounces Catwoman: the Movie and issues a public apology, _then_ we'll talk.

CATverse A/N: Blah blah blah, if you want to know where it goes, check the website (too lazy to type the address…check my profile), 'kay?

A/N: After several months of The Dry Spell of Doom, allow me to present, OMG THE FIRST THING I'VE WRITTEN IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG. This storyline has been in the works since...last summer. Mostly in my head. I'm _finally_ getting around to writing it now that I feel confident enough that I actually have the ability to _complete_ it. I will update it regularly, I do solemnly swear.

* * *

Every storyteller worth his salt (and every other seasoning, for that matter) knows that the very _best_ tales--the most _timeless_ tales--begin with the words 'Once upon a time…' Certainly, there are other ways in which to open a story, more complex, more mature, more _stylish_ and modern ways, but none declare "The story is starting" quite so effectively as those. Every fairy tale and a fair few fables begin in such a manner, and though this particular parable _doesn't_ it is no less fantastic or unbelievable than Cinderella's frog footmen and Fairy Godmother.

However, this story doesn't start in a far away kingdom where a prince searches for his beloved princess-to-be and the woodland animals help out with the household chores. 

Instead, it begins with one far-too-curious-for-her-own-good henchgirl, her comrades and their master in Gotham City's industrial district.

The three women of whom I speak were ordinary enough, in much the same way a Venus Fly Trap is an ordinary plant until you get within biting range and it tries to snap off one of your fingers. At a distance, they looked normal. Up close, they looked…well, still normal enough to pass for normal if they were making an effort, but they _rarely_ made an effort in that regard, preferring to stick out like a threesome of sore thumbs in the crowd.

Even if they did elect to spend a day _looking_ normal, once one found themselves face to face with them, one could discern that there was something Not Quite Right going on behind their eyes.

They were, despite occasional appearances to the contrary, madder than the March Hare, and quite proud of that fact.

For starters, they worked for a man who poisoned--for lack of a better term--people for his own amusement and, in addition to being his minions in all things dastardly, caused mayhem of their own in the streets for no other reason than 'just because'. In this way, they were much like children; no greater rhyme or reason to their actions other than 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' or 'it sounded like _fun'._

The events that will unfold in this story, dear reader, were a chain reaction that, like a fuse burning down to a stick of dynamite, seemed innocuous enough to begin with--just a spark, that turned into a flame and then lit a fuse, causing pandemonium to break out before anyone realized what had happened.

The spark, if you will, that started the disastrous inferno, was an article that the aforementioned far-too-curious-for-her-own-good henchgirl made the mistake of reading. Though all three women who worked for the Scarecrow were interested in new gadgets and often oohed and ahhed at anything particularly shiny that made noise or had big red buttons on it crossed their paths, none of them was as voracious about it as Techie was, being the only one who actually went out of her way to keep up with what was being developed by every top tech firm in the country. 

Jonathan Crane wasn't the only one who kept up with journals and though his were medical, scientific or psychological in nature, Techie's were, fittingly enough, technical (the _other_ journals she kept up with were written by avid conspiracy theorists and had headlines like "Elvis spotted pumping gas in Vancouver!" or "Symbiotic aliens staging White House takeover!"). Many times she'd caused a stir by reading an article, flailing her arms and loudly insisting that her companions help her acquire whatever had grabbed her attention, and though none of those capers had turned catastrophic, this one _did_.

It was a Thursday afternoon in the Scarecrow's lair, the man himself working on mathematical equations at the 'kitchen' table and glaring at the Captain every time she offered to assist; Al practicing her zombie slaughtering skills on the now rather run down House of the Dead 2 machine--the only appliance in the general kitchen area she dared approach without fear of electrical failure/fiery death--and Techie draped over a living room chair sideways, her legs swung over one of the arms, hanging upside down over the other and reading Popular Mechanics…also upside down.

It was quiet, with the exception of a few screams from the arcade machine and muttered swears from Al every time she got thwacked in the head by a particularly nasty reanimated corpse, and, had Techie gone with her first instinct and set her magazine aside in favor of making herself a sandwich, it may have stayed that way.

Instead, she went against her first impulse, flipped the page, skimmed it and then gasped so dramatically that she sat up abruptly and fell out of the chair in the process.

Al stopped shooting zombies and the Captain stopped drumming her fingers on the table instantaneously. 

Jonathan Crane kept on scribbling, not bothering to look up. If he stopped work every time one of them did something unexpected, he'd _never_ get any work done…

With a flurry of paper and a clumsy flailing of limbs, Techie squeaked from her place on the floor, "CAPTAIN! AL!" and flailed again, like a woman having some sort of controlled, _purposeful_ seizure.

Al and the Captain, being trained in the ways of dealing with a squealing, flailing, obviously incoherently excited fangirl, were at their friend's side in moments, dragging her off the floor, dusting her off and snatching the magazine that had clearly sent her sloshing around in the watery depths of madness. 

The Captain held the magazine in front of herself and read aloud as Al peered over her shoulder and Techie straightened her t-shirt out with some difficulty. 

"A Novel Idea, a new kind of holographic technology from Lexcorp, is now in the beta testing stages at their Gotham branch laboratory, journalist Neil Addams reports. ANI will pioneer the holographic entertainment industry in the form of holonovels, an idea which originated inside the walls of Wayne Industries' technology division, but was ignored by the higher ups at the company, dismissed by Bruce Wayne as a 'frivolous idea and escape from reality'. Lex Luthor, seeing the advantages of getting in on the ground floor of such a venture, hired away the engineer responsible for the proposal and launched his own research into the viability of such a product." The Captain paused and flicked her eyes up to her friend before she resumed reading, "Now, nine months after the project's launch, beta models have been created and are undergoing rigorous testing in Lexcorp's labs. ANI, as described in a press release from Lexcorp, will be like a gaming platform in the form of a book, which can be loaded with various story cartridges (each sold separately). The device allows for an 'immersive reading experience', placing the 'reader' in a simulated realistic environment, taken from the story itself using holographic imagery."

Crane still didn't look up.

"The user selects a character to 'play' and lives out the storyline 'in their skin'. Thus far, the story cartridges have been adapted from classic stories which are in the public domain. Alice in Wonderland, the Wizard of Oz and several fairy tales have found their way into the database, but contemporary authors have been contacted for more mature story cartridges, including romance and _horror_ novelists."

At the special emphasis the Captain put on the word 'horror', Crane's pen stopped scratching along the surface of his paper. His mind careened into several different directions, all of which had to do with just how this new technology could enhance the effects of his fear toxin…

The Captain continued, seemingly not noticing Crane's disinterest had fled to be replaced by the proverbial light bulb flickering on over his head.

"When asked how exactly the devices work, Lexcorp's technology division cited confidentiality agreements and hit us with 'no comment' all around."

"Big surprise," Al commented under her breath, reading over the Captain's shoulder. 

"We contacted Wayne Industries to talk with a representative for the technology development department about how they felt at WI about losing so much ground in this new form of entertainment technology, and they were gracious enough to provide us with a response," the Captain took a breath and went on, "'We at Wayne Industries believe in the betterment of humankind and the world we inhabit. A Novel Idea may be just that, but it is an escape from the problems that plague our planet, not a means of solving them. We wish Lex Luthor the best of luck with his new endeavor, but we have no interest in holographic technology used solely for entertainment purposes.' If Wayne Industries has dropped out of the holographic entertainment race, it's assured that Lexcorp will have a monopoly on this corner of the technological market. Look for further updates on the development of this exciting new technology in future issues."

The Captain lowered the magazine, staring straight ahead of herself thoughtfully. "Neat."

"Neat?" Techie squeaked the squeak of the indignant. "They're developing a _portable_ holodeck and all you can say is NEAT?!"

The Captain shrugged. "Well, it _is_ neat."

Techie flailed and somehow wound up at the Captain's side, one arm wrapped around her shoulder and the other outstretched in front of her, as though indicating a landscape in front of her that only she could see. 

"Think of it, Captain," Techie said excitedly, moving her hand slowly in front of herself as though a marquee was being stretched out beneath it, "living out a novel. _Any_ novel. You could be Scarlett O'Hara--"

"No thanks."

"Sherlock Holmes!"

The Captain shrugged again. "Meh."

Techie drew in close, almost cheek to cheek with the other woman and Al had the most ridiculous urge to start calling her Biallystock. "You could be _Laura Ingalls_."

The Captain's eyes went all shiny and the dopiest grin that had ever graced her face in all the years Crane had known her spread with such abandon he almost found it infectious.

Almost.

"I could be Laura Ingalls," she repeated dreamily before coming to her senses, shaking her head and looking at the madwoman at her side. "But they're just in the beta testing stage. There's no way to know if they'll ever make it to mass market or not."

Techie's eyelids slid to half mast and she rapped on the Captain's forehead with her knuckles. "Hello? Criminals here. We don't _have_ to wait for the mass market models."

"We could steal a beta model!" the Captain gasped suddenly…apparently, her brain wasn't firing on all eight cylinders this afternoon. "But…beta models are buggy."

Techie drew back without removing her arm from around the Captain's shoulders. "The bugs are what make life interesting."

And that was the statement that started the snowball rolling downhill.

* * *

It took two weeks for the Plan (it was such a major thing that it deserves capitalization) to be finalized and another two to convince the Scarecrow to come along for the ride. He fought his henchgirls more out of habit than anything else--habit and the desire to keep what dignity he could--because he was genuinely interested in what the technology could offer him personally but didn't want to admit to the desire to tag along.

Lexcorp's laboratory in Gotham was much smaller than the facility the company maintained in Metropolis, but what it lacked in size it made up for in security. The Captain, Al and Techie spent the two weeks worth of planning sleeplessly working out every possible entrance, exit and liability that the lab had to offer and after a great deal of work, finally found a hole in the building's defenses large enough for them to cautiously slip through.

And so, exactly one month after the birth of their initial idea, Operation Sneaky-Pants (Al was not allowed to name their operations ever again) commenced. 

Getting into the lab went off without a hitch, amazingly enough, even though they were a traveling group of not-so-stealthy four; the _real_ trouble started when they actually made it into the lab's storage facility.

Techie had never looked so enraptured as when Al hit the lights and flood light after flood light shimmered on, acting as spotlights on countless display cases and lab tables, wires, circuit boards and pieces of unidentifiable technology scattered everywhere.

"It's like heaven," she whispered reverently, blinking so rapidly that Crane wondered if she were forcing back honest to God _tears_.

"Focus," he said irritably, forcing her to snap back to reality, "We're looking for the ANI device, remember?"

"Right. Yeah. ANI." She shook herself and headed towards one of the tables, her eyes flickering over everything in sight, studying each piece and moving on when she ascertained that it wasn't what they were looking for. "If I was a portable holodeck, what would I look like?"

"Ha!" The Captain picked up something that looked like a half straightened slinky and wriggled it. "Spengler was here."

The other two women giggled at the joke that had obviously gone over Crane's head but a sharp look sent them both back into silence.

It passed this way for several minutes, picking up various items, studying them for a few seconds and then setting them aside, before finally, Al let out a triumphant cry and flailed her arms as she stood in front of a display. "I think I found it!"

The Captain, Techie and Crane all approached, got close enough to see that something which resembled a fine leather bound notebook with a two inch screen set into its cover, before the unthinkable happened.

Even as he walked towards Al, curiously peering over her shoulder as he went, she reached out, brushed her fingers across the screen…

And in a flash of bluish light…

_Vanished._


	2. Chapter 2

When Jonathan Crane blinked the stars from his vision that had been caused by the brilliant flash of light, he discovered that his initial conclusion about Al was incorrect. She had merely appeared to have vanished; it was just a trick of the light blinding him that had made him think she was gone, nothing more, for she stood in front of the book, just as she had before his retinas had been treated to something that no doubt had caused permanent damage of some kind.

However, though Al was still standing in the lab, it was quickly determined that she wasn't exactly all _there._

Not that she'd been all there to begin with, but now she looked a great deal more vacant than usual.

"Al?"

He hated the fact that his tone matched that of her worried comrades and that they all spoke in unison.

He also hated the fact that she didn't respond.

He tried again, his voice purposely harsh and snappish. "Al?"

Still nothing.

The Captain was nearest to the eerily silent and still Al, and she made quick work of crossing over to stand in front of her. Techie wound up in front of her quiet comrade mere seconds after the Captain had made her way over, whatever nifty piece of tech she'd been fascinated with moments before completely forgotten.

His feet moved him towards her as well, despite his best efforts.

The Captain cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted--not the wisest course of action in this situation, but clearly the only thing she could think of. "Earth to Al, come in Al!"

Techie waved a hand in front of Al's face to no avail. "I don't think her hailing frequencies are open, Captain."

The two henchgirls glanced at each other worriedly and the Captain's voice got small and meek. "Nikkums?"

Several things happened at once then. The Captain reached for Al, Techie _tried_ to stop her with a shouted, "NO! Don't touch her!" and there was another flash of light when her hand closed around Al's upper arm.

Once more, Crane blinked until he could see again and what greeted him wasn't encouraging.

The Captain was standing just as frighteningly still as Al was.

Something akin to panic started to rise inside the Scarecrow and he covered it with what he always did. Anger and disdain.

"Fools," he groused, stalking over to them, all hesitation forgotten with the strength of his irritation. "You ought to know better by--"

"Squishy, look out!"

Crane stumbled on the half straightened slinky that the Captain had dropped and pitched forward, arms outstretched in preparation to steady himself.

It was a tactical error on his part, because the very tips of his fingers brushed the cover of the book and a third blinding flash of light spread outwards, leaving Techie blinking stupidly as she waited for her vision to return.

"God damn it!" she squawked when she recovered, seeing Crane in an awkward position that made him look like a badly posed department store mannequin. "Don't listen to Techie, oh _no_, never listen to she who might _actually_ have a theory about what's going on!"

She set her fists on her hips and huffed like an angry bull, glaring for all she was worth even though she suspected her annoyance was falling on completely deaf ears. "Ought to leave you lot like that, I ought!"

Techie jumped three feet in the air when all three frozen people blinked once in unison. It was a _supremely_ creepy sight to behold, like they were automatons with scheduled tasks programmed into their brains that included blinking once every few minutes.

She shook off the shiver that had spilled down her spine and decided, no, she couldn't just leave them like this (she pretended that she was actually seriously considering _not_ racing to their rescue; it made her feel like less of a sap), took a steadying breath and closed the distance between herself and her cohorts.

"God, I hope I'm right." She squeezed her eyes shut, reached for the Scarecrow's arm and everything went white.


	3. Chapter 3

Even under the best of circumstances, crucifixion is never the sort of activity one _chooses_ to engage in. Walk up to anyone on the street and ask, "What would you rather do, have an ice cream sundae or be crucified?". Ten times out of ten, you're going to get ice cream sundae enthusiasts--even if a few of them happen to be lactose intolerant.

The Scarecrow had never been particularly fond of ice cream--in sundae form or otherwise--but he was even _less_ fond of crucifixion. When he woke with a start, pinned to a decidedly cross shaped wooden frame, his arms stretched to either side of him as far as they could go and his ankles strapped together with rope, he found he wasn't too proud to admit that maybe he was panicking just a little.

Well, maybe more than a little.

At first, when he was struggling out of slumber, he thought that he'd been captured by Batman. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd awakened to find various body parts lashed together, but as his addled mind cleared, he realized that no matter how many times he'd been caught by the 'good' guys, they'd never been so perversely ironic as to string him up--in full costume, no less--in the middle of a cornfield. The _Joker_ had that kind of sense of humor, Batman and his caped cronies certainly did not.

After the realization that he was completely immobilized, Jonathan examined his surroundings as best he could. For starters, it was broad daylight--which meant he'd lost several hours between being in the laboratory with the girls and here--the sky was robin's egg blue, the clouds cotton ball-puffy and the corn that surrounded him was high and lush, obviously ready for the harvest. All in all, the scene was disgustingly picturesque and more like something out of the heartland than the cold, dank East Coast, right down to the yellow brick--

__

Oh.

Of course. Naturally. He hadn't been transported by some unknown force from the lab, he was _in the damn book_.

A flutter of wings close by his ear and a set of needle sharp talons digging into his shoulder made him yelp suddenly. He turned to glare at the empty eyed crow that decided to perch on him.

"Boo!" he exclaimed in his fiercest voice.

The crow just tipped its head to one side and looked at him.

He glared at it as nastily as he could, wishing he could bore holes in its head with the force of his gaze. "Go away."

The bird just waddled further up his shoulder so that it was near his ear and reached out, gently touching him with its beak. It tickled and Jonathan laughed involuntarily. The moment the chuckle was out, he growled, angry at his own loss of composure and shook his shoulder up and down as much as he possibly could.

The crow refused to be dislodged. Its tail feathers bobbed this way and that as it miraculously kept its balance despite the violent movements of its perch.

After a minute or two, Jonathan gave up and slumped as much as his bindings would allow. There was no point fighting a losing battle. The bird had the advantage: it had freedom of movement, he didn't.

The crow carefully walked down his arm, putting one foot in front of the other in a delicate balancing act until it was sitting on the ropes that held his left wrist. It leaned over in a movement that looked like it should've broken its neck and laid its head at the junction between his thumb and forefinger. Jonathan nearly burst out laughing at the ludicrousness of it all. It was begging to have its head scratched. The programmers of A Novel Idea certainly spared no expense when it came to detail.

An abrupt rustling came from somewhere to his right and Jonathan's head whipped around towards the source of the noise, the crow forgotten. The cornrows were parting in a very definite pattern as someone thrashed about in them, coming towards him. He couldn't see much, at first, but eventually a flash of hot rod red emerged from the green. It was swallowed up by it again for a moment and then the red blob popped out of the greenery completely, complaining under its breath.

Someone stood roughly nine feet below in a red cloak with an attached hood pulled low over their face. The cloak was littered with leaves from the struggle through the cornfield and Jonathan felt an immense rush of relief when the hood was peeled back and Techie's bushy head came into view.

She spat a few times, brushing leaves and grass out of her hair and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Jonathan?"

"Who _else_ would it be?" he asked impatiently.

"Ray Bolger. How the hell should I know, do I have my glasses?"

He pursed his lips rather than admit she had a point. "Get me down from here."

"Oh, sure, I'll just spout wings and _fly_ then, shall I?"

The crow squawked indignantly, as if she'd insulted it.

"Just _get me down_," he groused, ignoring the tickle of feathers on his hand where the crow had taken up residence.

She let out a sigh and untied the cord that held her cloak around her neck. It dropped to the ground and the ridiculous dress beneath--sour apple green, puffy sleeved and with a stark white pinafore over it--nearly made him guffaw. The bird on his hand didn't have as much restraint as he did and did a fair approximation of a cackle.

Techie didn't say anything, just hitched up her skirt and shimmied up the post behind him as best she could in a pair of patent leather Mary Janes--which is to say, she shimmied very, very badly. Still, with a lot of effort and a fair bit of grunting, she managed to free his feet and then fought her way up until she was able to work on the ropes around his wrists. She had to bat the crow away when she untied his left hand (the bird decided to perch in her hair after being so rudely dislodged from its perch) but the right hand went much easier.

Only when she was undoing the last of the knots that secured his right hand did Jonathan realize--

"No! Wait!"

****

THUMP!

A cloud of dust kicked up as Jonathan hit the ground face first and he heard her call down, "Sorry!"

He rolled over, brushing the dirt from his mouth with his sleeve and sat up. Techie slid down the post he'd been tied to and gracelessly landed on her rump. She sucked in air through her teeth and rubbed her backside as she got up and offered him a hand. He refused it and got up himself, hopping a little as he realized he'd landed on his ankle wrong in the fall. The pain was only momentary, though, and before Techie could rush to him and offer to be a crutch, he put his weight down gingerly and found that it didn't hurt at all.

"That should have broken my ankle," he said with wonder, shaking his foot a little.

"It's all virtual," she replied as the crow left her head and returned to perch on his.

"But it _hurt_ for a second."

She tapped her forehead. "Your brain was anticipating from experience that it would hurt, so it _did_ before the program could catch up and block the sensation. I _think_ how this thing works is that the 'book' infects you with nanobots that cause…er…controlled hallucinations. They all send signals back and forth to each other between the infected. That's why we're experiencing this environment together."

"No one in their right mind is going to consent to being infected with nanobots," he said rationally, dusting himself off. "One never knows what they might be programmed to do…or who might hijack their signal and _then_ program them."

"The bots have a limited lifespan," she said with a shrug. "They only last as long as the 'adventure' does and then they start to deteriorate."

"Joy, then we'll have _degraded_ hallucinatory technology floating around in our bloodstreams. So much the better." He waved the crow off his head. It flew upwards a few feet and then came right back to nest in his hair. Jonathan sighed but didn't bother trying to force the bird away again. "You're so full of theories, how do we get out of here?"

"That might be the tricky part." She chewed on her lip. "When I first woke up, I was presented with a list of objectives to complete, like a video game. Several were optional, and I guess are meant to enrich the experience for people who want to live the story to the fullest, but the last one was mandatory: defeat the bad guy."

"I assume you succeeded."

"Well, yeah. But the thing is, the program draws on aspects from _you_ to create the environment and the story. At least, that's the only explanation I can come up with for why the wolf was played by a devilish rogue in thigh high boots and _sang_."

Jonathan quirked a brow. "Continue."

"I always thought the woodsman was the bad guy…and let me tell you, the guy with a sadistic sense of humor and the axe is a _lot_ scarier than the singing wolf. The second I managed to keep from being chopped to bits and got rid of _him_, half the world kinda just…fell away, like a hole in reality. It led here. _My_ storyline was over, but yours isn't."

The crow yanked on a beak full of Jonathan's hair and he winced, swatting at the massive beast on his head. "I didn't get any list of objectives," he said angrily, trying to talk and get rid of the crow at the same time. "I just woke up hanging in the middle of a cornfield."

"Oh." She frowned, her brow furrowing for a second. Then her face lit up and she turned her attention heavenward. "Computer, please present program's list of objectives."

Nothing happened.

"Computer?"

Still nothing.

She looked at him apologetically. "It worked on Star Trek."

"In case you haven't noticed, life is _not_ like Star Trek," he said irritably, stalking forward and grabbing her by the arm, hauling her through the corn. He tried to ignore the talons digging into his scalp as he did so.

"Well, it should be!" she replied, pulling her arm out of his grip. She grabbed up her cloak and followed after him.

It took several minutes but they managed to get out of the field and onto the yellow brick road. It stretched in either direction and there were no signs to be found.

He turned to her. "Little Red Riding Hood was about defeating the bad guy, what's the theme of The Wizard of Oz?"

"Technically, the theme of Little Red Riding Hood is--"

He glared at her. The effect was lessened greatly by the bird on his head, but she switched tracks anyway.

"Er…never mind. Wizard of Oz? Wanting to go home."

"If that were the objective, I'd have fulfilled it by now," he remarked.

She looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's character specific? I mean, if you were _Dorothy_, then you'd have to want to go home…but since you're the Scarecrow, maybe you need a brain."

"In that case, I'll just bash the crow's skull in and scoop out whatever mush is inside. That should fulfill the requirements quite neatly."

Immediately, the animal in question leapt away from Jonathan and went to perch on a fencepost. Both it and Techie screeched at him angrily, one a little more coherently than the other.

"Jonathan! That's terrible!"

"Your point being?" he asked dispassionately. "It isn't as if that thing is _real._"

"I don't care, you aren't going to hurt any helpless animals, virtual or not. Besides, that's _not_ what I meant by needing a brain!"

"Then what, pray tell, would _you_ suggest?"

"We go to see the Wizard in the emerald city," she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "That might not be the biggest objective in the story, but it's one of them."

"Or maybe I should just click my heels together--" he did so in a mocking fashion, "and say 'there's no place like home'?!"

In an instant, a hole seemingly opened in midair, about seven feet by three feet to his left. He jumped back and then peered into it. The world beyond was hazy and unclear but it was definitely a different environment from the one they were currently in.

"That was easy," he said, turning to look at Techie.

He let out a startled sound. The cornfield, the blue sky and the yellow brick road behind her was starting to wave and melt as if the universe was collapsing. He grabbed her by the hand and stumbled through the hole in space.

For a moment, he was weightless, floating in nothing. It was almost like swimming, except he didn't need to make any effort to stay afloat. The feeling lasted for a few seconds and then ended suddenly as he landed at the top of a grassy hill and started to roll down it in a tangle of confused limbs.

He heard Techie somewhere--he'd lost his grip on her as they'd floating through the wibbly-wobbly stuff between universes--also thumping her way down the hill but he was too concerned with finding a way to stop his forward momentum to wonder whether she was okay or not.

At last, the hill leveled out and he rolled just a few times more, landing flat on his back. He stared up at the sky, waiting for the world to stop spinning and when it finally did, he found a shock of carrot red hair above him. A young boy, at the outside thirteen or so, dressed in leaves and covered in cobwebs was leaning over him, studying him from narrowed blue eyes. He didn't offer the man in the grass his hand, or say a word.

Instead, he let out a cockcrow, even as a pair of small hands with a rock in them came barreling towards Jonathan's face.

Everything went black.

-

Quick A/N: First, this chapter was originally going to end differently, but then I had this brilliant flash of inspiration. I hope it results in squees all around--I know the last chapter will, I just don't know how Captain's 'storyline' will be recieved.

Secondly, if you've never seen Cannon Movie Tales' Red Riding Hood, you should. That was my first exposure to the story of Little Red Riding Hood as a child and it did indeed change how I looked at the Wolf. (He _does_ wear thigh high boots...when I showed the movie to Captain, her reaction was along the lines of--"I don't see what the big deal--HE **SINGS**! -glomp-") The whole movie is on YouTube.

Finally, the science fiction fan in me did indeed run amok in this chapter (no, the science isn't quite sound). If you don't like it, you may bite me...because the original explaination I had mapped out for the 'A Novel Idea' technology was technobabbling to the nth degree. Be thankful you escaped such torture.


	4. Chapter 4

For the second time, Jonathan awoke with his limbs bound to a piece of wood. With his hands stretched in front of him and his legs awkwardly bent at the knees, ankles tied to the same pole, he bumped and wobbled in a most alarming fashion, suspended and carried between two adolescent boys in animal skins. He felt like a piece of meat on a spit-and to be fair, he rather looked the part.

A string of terribly unladylike curses were coming from somewhere up ahead and it didn't take a genius of Jonathan's caliber to figure out who it was.

"Put me _down_, you little _brats_!"

"Stuff it, pirate," a squeaky voice replied, caught between the change of boy to man. "You don't give the orders around here."

"I'm no pirate!"

"All grownups are pirates!"

"Not this one!"

The procession stopped abruptly and Jonathan was unceremoniously dropped on his back, a cloud of dust springing up around him and making him cough. The collision with the ground didn't hurt, but the accompanying allergens aggravated his lungs. Funny how the program could pick and choose which stimuli would get through to his brain and make him react like he would in the real world.

There was an answering grunt and thud up ahead, presumably caused by his companion being dumped on the ground as well. Techie called out to him, "Squishy?"

A murmur of voices that sounded like agreement erupted. "See? She calls him by a pirate name!"

"Oh shut up," she squawked angrily.

In a flurry of movement, the ropes burning into his wrists were yanked and tugged loose and the lines around his ankles followed suit, dropping him fully into the dust. He was given but a moment's respite before an army of little boys descended on him, pulling him up and shoving him between them, shuffling him toward a stake sticking upright out of the ground. If there hadn't been so many of them, Jonathan figured he probably could've gotten free, but there was no point.

"Watch those hands, you heathens! What is this, Lord of the Flies?! HEY!" He could see Techie futilely struggling with the swarm of children around her. He placidly let them lead him to one of the stakes and didn't fight them when they tied him to it. Unlike his henchgirl, he knew what was going on-to some extent-and a plan had begun to form…

"Lemme go! I've seen Children of the Corn! I'm not being anybody's Isaac! Let! Me! Go!" Techie continued to wrestle with the boys, but their superior numbers finally won out and she was lashed to the other stake, quite the worse for wear. Her Little Red Riding Hood getup was tattered in a few places it hadn't been before and she had a fat lip. She glared at him as though _he_ were to blame for her own stupidity.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't answer. He was too busy focusing on the hooligans in front of him. The crowd of boys parted and the one who'd stood above him and crowed like a rooster strode forward, fists on his hips. His hair was like flame in the afternoon sun and his china-blue eyes blazed with the defiance only a hard headed child could possess. The haughty look in his eyes clashed with the smirk that twisted his lips, but somehow the opposing expressions worked on his face and Jonathan couldn't imagine any other mood for this boy. Bold, almost malicious rebellion and good natured mischief weren't mismatched on his features; they _fit_. The other children looked at him like he was some kind of God. This was the ring leader, without a doubt.

"Pirate," he said with distaste, his voice strong and commanding despite his youth.

"Pan," Jonathan spat in response.

"_Peter_ Pan?" Techie interjected, eyes wide. She looked at Jonathan, then at the boy in autumn leaves and cobwebs, and back again, confusion warring with realization on her face.

"Quiet, wench!" Crane growled savagely. "Don't you-_ye_ interrupt me again or…or…" he scrambled for an appropriately pirate-themed threat. When he came up with one, he silently thanked the girls for enforcing the strict observance of Talk Like a Pirate Day for the past few years. "Or I'll keel haul ye!"

She stared at him like he was from another planet.

The Lost Boys took no notice of her bug eyed look. A redhead in a fox skin pointed at Jonathan accusingly. "See? His way of talkin'; I _told_ you he was a pirate."

There was a murmur of opposition.

"He ain't dressed like a pirate," the little one in a skunk skin said thoughtfully. "Look at his funny clothes."

"Aye, I _am_ a pirate," the Scarecrow said with conviction, knowing full well that the first part of 'conman' stood for _confidence_ for a reason. "I'm Sackcloth John. Surely ye've heard of me, boy?"

Pan gave a jaunty toss of his head, too cocky for his own damn good. "No, I haven't."

Jonathan leaned as far forward as the ropes around his wrists would allow, his frame hunched slightly. If his hands had been free, he would've had them on the boy's shoulders as a show of bringing him into his confidence. "Are ye _sure_ on that point, boy? I'm rather famous 'round these parts…third behind Cap'n Hook hisself, I'd say."

The butchering of the English language made Crane wince internally. Techie winced outwardly.

A flicker of uncertainty lit in the depths of Pan's eyes. "Well…I mean…I _might_ have."

"Only _might_ have, lad?"

He puffed out his chest like a proud little peacock. "I've heard of a lot of pirates. Maybe I just don't remember you. _Maybe_ you're not so important as you think you are."

"Aye, maybe so, maybe so," 'Sackcloth John' conceded with an sad, exaggerated shake of his head. "Still, we got a common enemy, you and me. Mayhap we can help each other."

"I don't need no help from a stinkin' _pirate_ and his stinkin' _wench_."

"Hey! My hygiene is leaps and bounds better than _yours_, shortstack."

"Woman!" Jonathan shouted, turning to look at her fiercely. "It'll be the plank fer you if you don't bite your tongue! Can't ye see negotiation when it's happening right in front of your fool face?"

"We aren't negotiationing nothin'," Pan snapped. "You're a pirate. We don't work together, you're my prisoners!"

Pan drew a shining silver dagger and jabbed it at his throat, the point mere millimeters from his carotid artery. Jonathan could imagine the Joker, confronted with the weapon, clasping his hands in front of himself and cooing, "What a _cute_ little pig sticker!", directly before gutting the kid like a fish. The image almost made him smile.

"What've you done with Wendy?"

"We haven't done anything with Miss Darling," he replied, eyes glued to the dagger. His acting skills weren't going to win him any Oscars, but he was doing a fair impersonation of genuine fear. "Cap'n Hook-that common enemy I was telling you about-_he_'_s_ the one what got her."

"Then he'll trade her for you." The blade poked Jonathan's skin, but it didn't hurt. It was like a pinprick; more of an annoyance than an ache.

Jonathan shook his head. "No, he won't. Led a mutiny agin him not too long ago, boy. He won't give two shakes of a crocodile's tail whether you got me or not."

Pan grew thoughtful and drew the knife back. "The wench, then."

"Just as much a foe to Hook as I am, she is…"

Angry, the boy looked up at his captive again. "Then we don't need you for nothin'."

"I wouldn't say _nothin'…_just because Hook won't trade doesn't mean I can't help you-ye with getting the girl back."

"How?" The look of mischief was replaced with one of wary intrigue.

_Got him._

Jonathan allowed a smile to briefly cross his face. "Who better to sneak onto a pirate ship and launch a daring rescue than a pirate?"

Who indeed…

With Techie left behind at Hangman's Tree as collateral, Jonathan fought his way through the brambles, branches and various other obstacles the dense forest had to offer. The Lost Boys hadn't equipped him with any kind of weapon, so he was forced to thrash about in the greenery to make progress; the path only went so far in the direction of the bay where the Jolly Roger was anchored, so getting up close and personal with mother nature was a necessary evil. The going was slow, but it gave him plenty of time to think about his strategy.

Thus far, he had…nothing.

He'd read Peter Pan as a boy, of course, and a few times as an adult. Arkham Asylum had a book cart that made the rounds every once in a while, full of books that had been donated for the patients to read; the selection was less than spectacular and most of the books had 'Property of Gotham School District #39' stamped inside their covers, but a book was a book and a classic was a classic. Jonathan wasn't going to complain because he'd been forced to keep company with J.M. Barrie on more than one occasion.

As such, he knew the storyline backward and forward. Since Peter Pan wasn't exactly chalk full of female characters, he figured that whichever of his henchgirls was stuck inside this particular novel had taken up the mantle of Wendy Darling. There was a slim chance that she'd been given the role of Princess Tiger Lily, but his gut told him that wasn't the case.

Still, something about this particular telling of Peter Pan didn't ring true. In the book, Wendy _was_ taken captive by Captain Hook, but the Lost Boys were with her at the time. Here, Wendy was the _only_ hostage of the black hearted captain of the Jolly Roger. It didn't make sense; unless, of course, Techie's theory about the technology adapting the story to fit the user was correct.

If that were the case, there might not be any preparing for whatever he found once he reached the ship. God only knew what the fertile imagination of a henchgirl could do to muddle the book's plot. If Techie's Big Bad Wolf was musically inclined, he might be meeting a Captain Hook who liked the jitterbug. On the other, more worrying hand, he might be meeting a Captain Hook who had more in common with Freddy Krueger than Gene Kelly. It was hard to say which was more likely.

By the time the forest started to thin out a bit and the clear blue-green waters of the ocean surrounding the island came into view, dusk was falling. The scene was positively breathtaking and even someone as inherently gloomy as Jonathan Crane had to stop and stare in awe.

The beach stretched before him, the white sand glowing gold in the setting sun, the palm trees awash in warm light. The waves were gentle, the sun dappled on the surface of the water that grew darker toward the horizon. Near the beach it was clear and blue, almost like a chlorine treated pool, but the color darkened to a murkier midnight blue in the distance. The forest crept out onto the beach a little, the lush plants making a valiant effort to encroach on the sand, but it was like something forcibly held them back. Some barrier that wasn't visible to the naked eye, keeping the uncontrolled wild away from the vacation brochure-perfect beach.

The Jolly Roger, perched majestically on the waves about three hundred yards out, moved a little in the water, nodding like the head of a sleepy child. The sails were open against the rapidly dimming purple sky, despite the fact the ship was obviously anchored, and the black flag with a skull and crossbones on it waved merrily in the breeze. A man in the crow's nest held a small, round accordion, playing a cheery tune that Jonathan's brain registered as slightly familiar and a handful of crewmen on deck went about the last of the day's work, singing.

"There was Harpoon Hannah, had a look that spelled out danger. My heart quivered, when she whispered, 'I'm there, stranger'," the accordion player sang mournfully, "I bought her trinkets that sailors can't afford…"

"Sailors can't afford," the men on deck echoed, their voices raised in surprisingly pretty harmony.

The song's tempo picked up as the crewman in the crow's nest continued with a laugh, "And when I spent my last red cent, she tossed me overboard."

A smile spread on the Scarecrow's face before he was even aware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that if someone wanted to paint a picture of maritime life and make it seem beautiful and inviting, then they should have set up their easel right here on the beach. Never in all his life had Jonathan Crane wanted to be a pirate, until now.

He stood and watched for a few minutes before he ventured a little ways out onto the beach and plopped down in front of the nearest palm tree. He leaned back against the knotty surface, pushing an errant coconut away from its base so that he could settle a bit more comfortably. There was no way he was going to be able to sneak onto the ship _now_; there were too many men about. He would have to wait until the majority went below deck.

That was fine with him. All the walking through the forest had worn him to the point of exhaustion. An excuse to sit and rest was more than welcome. Certainly on some level he still desperately wanted to get out of this place, but Never Land, magical as it had ever been, was lulling him into a strange state of complacency. The place made you forget things, that's how it was designed, and right now he was forgetting that desperation. Perhaps it was because he was so overtired, or perhaps it was just the place itself, or perhaps this was what A Novel Idea was meant to do-to replicate the setting of a book so accurately that even its side effects worked on the subject's nerves.

It didn't matter. Staring out at the tranquil waves and the sky above them, the sounds of a slower, more somber sea shanty drifting on the breeze, Jonathan nodded off.

The feeling of smooth, scaly legs crawling over his bare ankle woke him with a start. A hermit crab was making its way across the beach, slowly dragging its shell, and the Scarecrow was in its way. He brushed it gently off his leg, still not fully conscious and stretched his limbs, yawning widely. For a moment, he stared out into the near pitch darkness without seeing, confused as to his whereabouts, but then everything came rushing back to him.

The sky was dark, dotted with a million pinpoints of light, the moon full and round shining down on the waves, and the Jolly Roger rode the ocean in silence. The spell of the sunset was broken and he found the quiet that had descended eerie and unsettling, the sense of well being he'd had before was completely lost in the gloom. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust fully and when they did, he scanned the beach on instinct.

Everything looked the same save the fact that there was a new addition to the sands that hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep: a worn looking rowboat.

_Hmmm._

Maybe he was _supposed_ to fall asleep?

He gracelessly pushed himself off the tree, his muscles stiff and rubbery as he stood, brushing sand from his person as he went. He started for the little boat, glad for its mysterious appearance. At least now he didn't have to _swim_ to the ship. Swimming three hundred yards of unfamiliar ocean was about two hundred ninety yards too far, in his opinion.

Despite his initial assessment, he found the boat was in very good condition when he reached it, the oars light but sturdy. It was a bit of a struggle to get it into the water, but he managed without much trouble. He climbed in and started to row, weakly at first and then with a bit more confidence. Apparently, his upper body strength in the land of fiction was quite a bit more impressive than it was in the real world. He was halfway to the ship in just a few minutes and he wasn't the least bit out of breath.

A sudden rushing sound interrupted his rhythm, giving him pause. The boat continued moving toward its destination anyway.

This made him look up and he realized that his rowing skill had nothing to do with his rapid forward momentum. A hole yawned open from the surface of the water, a whirlpool that wasn't quite a normal whirlpool, pulling his tiny vessel toward it with increasing speed.

_Nothing_ could ever just be _easy_, could it?

Jonathan kept his wits about him, turned around in the rowboat and fought the current with all his might.

It was a losing battle.

Water splashed into the boat, a wild spray of sea water erupting from nowhere soaking him through suddenly. _Real_ whirlpools didn't work this way. Logic said that something this size shouldn't have been this powerful, but fiction could bend the rules of reality for the sake of story.

The wood panels that made up the boat he was sitting in started to shudder under the strange, unnatural pull of the water, forcing the little craft to literally come apart at the seams. The boat started to tip into the cyclone of water and Jonathan abandoned his oars, standing up shakily. He took in a great heaving breath, held it and dove into the water just as the rowboat was tugged apart and the pieces yanked under by the force of the ocean.

The water was peculiarly warm, like an indoor pool, and he kicked against the pull of the whirlpool, trying to break the surface. Thanks to Al's expert tutelage he could swim adequately and hold his breath a maximum of a minute and a half, but his lungs burned and contracted inside his chest, crying out for oxygen all the same.

The whirlpool was unrelenting, pulling him down and down despite his desperate clawing at the water and the paddling of his feet. A swish of water in front of him and a pair of startling, sparkling silver eyes staring at him from the middle of a cloud of emerald hair in the water made him release part of the breath he was holding in surprise, a torrent of bubbles flying up past his face.

Between the thoughts, _Damn it!_ and _I'm going to drown_, the word _mermaid_ squeezed itself in.

The thing in front of him wasn't exactly Disney animated material-for starters, there were no seashells used for modesty's sake-but it had a weird sort of allure with its translucent mother-of-pearl skin and glowing eyes. Its body wasn't half human like so many illustrators would have depicted it-the skin of its torso was just as scaly as its tail-but it was distinctly woman shaped and undeniably beautiful in an indescribable way.

All in all, it was exactly as he'd always imagined the sirens of Greek mythology looked. More fish than woman.

Elegantly, it reached out its long, willowy arms and wrapped him in an embrace, pulling him close, pinning his arms to his sides. Its powerful arms squeezed tightly around his chest, forcing out the last bit of air he was holding onto and Jonathan remembered the _other_ thing he always imagined about mermaids: they were, by nature, man killers. The last bubble of oxygen he had in his lungs escaped and with it, a yelp.

The mermaid just tilted its head at him, blinking curiously. With a hysterical internal laugh, he realized it reminded him of the empty eyed crow in the cornfield. His vision started to dim around the edges, blackness tightening from the outer edges inward until all he could see were two pinpoints at the very center.

Through the haze, he saw the mermaid nod its head, its hair swirling around his face and brushing his skin. Instantly, they were propelled toward the surface in three strokes of the mermaid's tail.

The air was freezing when it hit his face and Jonathan gasped, pulling in large gulps of it. It hurt his lungs, burned his eyes and stung his nostrils, but he couldn't stop gasping frantically. The mermaid didn't release him, but it did loosen its grip, letting him breathe more freely.

The mermaid didn't stop staring at him, even as it tugged him closer to the Jolly Roger. Its intense scrutiny of him was disquieting, but he wasn't in any shape to deny its inquisitiveness.

A net made of coarse rope hung over the side of the ship and as it came into reach, the mermaid took Jonathan's hand, forcing him to take hold of it. His fingers were a little stiff, but he finally grabbed it and held on for dear life. The mermaid released him and for a moment, his head sank beneath the water. It pulled him back up again and secured his other hand around the netting.

Confident that he wouldn't sink again, it floated back a foot. It looked distinctly satisfied with itself and a smug, closed mouth smile stretched its shining lips. In that instant, he thought it looked an awful lot like Al when she was too pleased with herself.

The moment he made the comparison in his head, it ducked beneath the waves. The last he saw of it was its tail bursting above the water a few times as it swam away. He stared after it, willing his body to stop shaking and his breathing to return to normal.

He felt weak for several minutes and then a fresh surge of strength washed over him and he felt refreshed. Techie _had_ said it was all virtual…his body wasn't _actually_ in any peril, his mind was just playing tricks on him. The program was taking a long time to catch up and block the sensations, though…maybe the nanobots were already starting to deteriorate.

Jonathan turned in the water and scrambled up the netting like a clumsy spider, hoisting himself over the edge and onto the deck with a surprisingly small amount of difficulty. When he landed with a thump behind a barrel of grog, he froze, sitting very, very still, worried that he might have awakened the crew below. No one stirred, though. He looked around, craning his neck to see better and was surprised that there wasn't anyone patrolling.

He grabbed the edge of the barrel and pulled himself up, frowning. Surely Captain Hook would have _someone_ watching the ship-

The feel of cold, pointed steel jabbing into his back, right between his shoulder blades, stopped him dead.

"Dunnae move," a gruff voice said from behind him in a harsh whisper, thick with an obviously fake accent. "I gotcha covered, see?"

Years of being arrested had him trained well. He raised his hands above his head slowly.

"Turn around."

He did as he was bade and came face to face with the Captain.

She wore a pair of well tailored breeches that were tucked into brown knee high boots. A billowy, puffy sleeved, but still feminine enough to be flattering, cream colored pirate shirt was secured around her waist with a blue satin sash and her short hair was swept under a red scarf on her head. Her bangs poked out from beneath it and a huge gold earring hung from her left ear. An eye patch completed the look, covering her right eye.

"_Captain?_"

She lowered her sword and let out a little squeal, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Squishy!"

He tugged her loose and pushed her back. "Why are you a _pirate_? You're supposed to be Wendy."

"I am!" she said excitedly. "Or, I was. You know, Captain Hook offered Wendy the chance to be a pirate. She just didn't take it. I did! Now, I'm Red Handed Jill, Queen of the Seven Seas! Isn't it great?"

He wondered if the sea air had done something to her brain. "Why do you have an eye patch?"

"It's a pirate thing." She snapped her fingers. "Don't you know anything? You wear an eye patch all day and if the ship is attacked at night, you move it to cover the _other_ eye. The one that was covered all day is already adjusted to handle darkness, so you're not stumbling around waiting for your night vision to warm up."

"That sounds unsettlingly scientific."

"Captain Hook is a smart guy. Mostly." She smiled at him. "Oh, Squishy, this is the best technology _ever_. I got to swab the deck today! The deck! Of a real ship! Well, not _real_ real, but real enough."

A tinkling like the sound of a thousand tiny church bells ringing in tandem startled him and he looked toward the source of the noise. A flickering light bobbled through the air and came to hover over the Captain's shoulder. She smiled at it.

"Hi, Tink!"

The little blob of light tinkled again.

Oh, now _this_ just went against everything in the book. "Why is Peter Pan's pixie with _you_?"

The tinkling sound grew angry and the fairy light flew up in Jonathan's face, crazily zipping about in front of him. He had a hard time focusing on the hyper little thing, until it came to a stop between his eyes and bopped him squarely on the nose.

He staggered back and rubbed the aching appendage. "What was _that_ for?"

"Tink says she doesn't belong to anybody," the Captain said with a nod at the little light. Tinkerbell came back to hover over her shoulder, jingling happily once more. "She's her own person. Or pixie, if you prefer. She doesn't need a man to own her."

Jonathan stared at her, completely astounded. "Are you telling me that you _liberated_ Tinkerbell?"

"Yes, yes I did." She looked immensely pleased with herself. "I told her all about the women's lib movement. If she had a bra, she would've burned it."

All he could do was stare. Leave it to the Captain to turn a haughty, vain and jealous creature like Tinkerbell into a militant feminist.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Tink and I have a patrol to finish." She saluted him with her sword and swung it up until the blade rested on her shoulder. "There's a free hammock in the hold. You should get some sleep."

That snapped him out of his reverie. "Are you mad? We can't stay here."

Her brow puckered. "Why not? I _like_ being a pirate. I _want_ to be a pirate."

He eyed her strangely. "I thought you wanted to be a ninja?"

"With my balance? Yeah, right." She shrugged and Tinkerbell tittered. "Pirates beat ninjas anyway, like zombies beat unicorns."

The fact that particular analogy made perfect sense to Jonathan scared him a little.

"And," she added, "I rather like Captain Hook."

"He's the villain!"

She looked at him pointedly as the irony of his own statement sank in. He scowled.

"He's not so bad. He's kind of fabulous, actually." Tinkerbell jingled in agreement and Jonathan thought he heard the sound of J.M. Barrie turning over in his grave. "He's Eton educated, reads poetry, plays the harpsichord-"

"Hurts children."

At this, the Captain frowned. "Well, yeah…but the point is moot anyway. My story objective is to be rescued. I don't think I can leave until that happens. I have to _wait_. I might as well have some fun while I'm waiting, right?"

"But you _can't _stay here. I-"

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The cry that suddenly shattered the relative calm of the evening would have put any self respecting banshee to shame. Jonathan and the Captain looked up at the sound and a million things seemed to happen at once.

The crew of the Jolly Roger burst from below decks in a scrambling mass of half dressed, slightly inebriated man flesh. Daggers were in teeth, sabers were in hand, and Smee, a few seconds too late, rushed out from his cabin, blowing the little brass whistle he kept around his neck, shouting, "All hands on deck!"

Captain Hook took the longest to emerge from his cabin, but when he finally stepped out into the night air, he did so as regally as a man in a nightshirt and sleeping cap possibly could've.

"What in blue blazes is going on here, Smee?" he screeched, causing the boatswain to jump considerably.

Smee saluted clumsily, fumbling his whistle in the process. "We're under attack, Cap'n!"

From the forests of Neverland a small army of children came forth. An entire tribe of Neverland warriors came up behind the Lost Boys and at the very head of this ragtag assault group, between Peter Pan and Princess Tiger Lily, was Techie. Her little green dress was completely ruined, the pinafore a dirty gray color instead of its original pristine white and her face was smudged with blood. Her hair stuck out in every direction, like it hadn't been properly washed in weeks, making her look like some sort of fierce, living bush.

Tiger Lily held a bow at eye level, a quiver of arrows at her back; Pan gripped his dagger tightly, facial expression set in grim determination and the henchgirl held a short sword aloft as they rushed the ship. Somehow, the Jolly Roger was now anchored less than fifty feet from the shore. More of the reality bending power of A Novel Idea, no doubt.

"Desperta ferro!" Techie cried.

"Man the cannons!" Hook shouted.

"Woohoo!" The Captain exclaimed with a triumphant fist pump. "Action scene!"

Shockingly, the Captain took up arms against the coming cavalry and Jonathan found a sword handle pressed into his hand. Bewildered, he looked at the coming army of children and Indians.

"Traitor! TRAITOR!" Pan yelled, pointing accusingly at Jonathan. He lifted from the ground effortlessly and flew straight for him. He barely ducked out of the way of the boy's dagger in time, tucking into a ball and rolling away. Captain Hook lunged for Pan with his hook and the flying menace forgot all about 'Sackcloth John'.

It took no time at all for the ship to be swarming with Pan's fighting force, boys tackling pirates en masse and dragging them to the deck, tying them up. The warriors stayed ashore, bombarding the ship with flaming arrows that caught the sails and set them alight. They burned steadily, but didn't turn to ash. Instead, the flames just smoldered, making the night bright as day. The flaming sails didn't give off heat, either, which was fortunate. It would've been like fighting inside an oven if they had.

Jonathan did his best to stay out of the way of the chaos, eventually taking cover behind a large chest. He wasn't surprised to find Smee cowering behind it as well. The two men gave each other a perfunctory glance, a sheepish shrug and then went back to watching the unfolding battle.

Techie's head popped up over the boat's railing and she swung a leg over it, clumsily levering herself on deck. She landed unsteadily, sword still in hand.

"Captain!" she shouted.

Hook's head whipped around towards her as he held Peter Pan pinned beneath him, hook raised in preparation to plunge it into the boy's heart. "Me?"

"Not _you_, Captain, the _other_ Captain!" She pointed at the woman Hook knew as Wendy. Peter Pan slipped out of Hook's grasp and the chase was on again, 'Red Handed Jill' forgotten. "I'm here to rescue you!"

"Aren't you a little short to be a storm trooper?"

"_Captain!_" Her tone was pure scolding.

"I don't _want_ to be rescued, Ops!" the other woman shouted. "Privateering is fun!"

Tinkerbell flew up in Techie's face and buzzed about, tinkling angrily and tossing pixie dust in the other henchgirl's eyes. Techie sneezed violently and the force of the sneeze blew the fairy back, right into the mast. The tinkling sound ceased abruptly and the little light plummeted to the deck, knocked unconscious, Jonathan guessed.

"This isn't a game!" Techie shouted, lifting her sword threateningly. "We have to get out of here!"

The Captain pouted at her. "But Ops, when's the next time we'll get to fence without repercussions? On a _pirate ship_? Can't we play? Just this once? Please? I'll even let you be Inigo!"

This almost calm exchange was very out of place in the midst of the bedlam on the Jolly Roger. Even more bizarre was Techie's sudden change of stance-a _dueling_ stance. If his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, Jonathan could've sworn her short sword had suddenly been replaced with a rapier.

"Who wants to be Inigo?" she asked lightly. "I want to be Porthos!"

The Captain let out a joyous laugh, grabbing a rope that hung from the mast. She got a running start and lifted off the ground, swinging toward her friend, one boot thrust out in front of her. The sole struck Techie squarely in the chest and knocked her off her feet. Techie landed with an 'oof' and the Captain landed gracefully, dancing out of the rapier's range.

"Then I get to be Aramis!"

Techie stood, seemingly unaffected by the blow to her chest. She raised her sword again and the two friends ran at each other, steel clashing and sparking on impact. They growled at each other from between clenched teeth, but it was all they could do to contain their grins.

"I'll cut you to ribbons!"

"I'd like to see you try! You fight like my sister!"

"I've fought your sister, that's a compliment!"

The Captain let out a squee and struck again. "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!"

"Stop _saying_ that!" They struggled against each other for a few seconds and then leapt back again. "Let your sword do the talking!"

"I will, it will be loquacious to a fault!" the Captain charged Techie and they locked blades once more.

"I see your Shwartz is just as big as mine!"

The Captain's lip twitched but she didn't break 'character'. The scrap continued.

Crash! Ding! Crash!

Jonathan could practically hear them panting with effort from where he crouched. They dealt each other a couple of non-lethal blows, Techie poked the Captain in the left shoulder and the Captain poked her foe in the right. Spots of blood appeared but the combatants were oblivious. Their swords locked one more time.

"Oh, give up, would you?"

"It's just a flesh wound!"

In the same instant, they blurted in unison, "You've got an arm off!"

Instantly, their faces crumpled and they dropped their swords with a clatter, helplessly collapsing against each other with laughter.

The battle around them seemed to freeze and its participants stared at the two women holding each other and cackling insanely. Hook held Pan off the deck by the throat and stared dumbly; the first mate, Mister Starkey, stood with three Lost Boys hanging off him, one on each bicep and one on his back with his arms around the pirate's throat; the rest of the crew was similarly occupied.

They just kept laughing, eventually flopping on the deck. After a few seconds that felt like forever, their guffaws started dying down a bit and they gasped for air.

"Okay," the Captain said between gulps, "I'm ready to be rescued now."

Techie nodded, taking deep heaving breaths and stood. She offered the Captain her hand and the moment they touched, a hole opened in midair, just like the one that she and Jonathan had leapt through to get to Neverland.

The chest that Jonathan had taken up residence behind started to melt in front of his eyes and he scrambled out from behind it. 'Reality' started deteriorating almost instantly. 'Wendy's' story objective had been fulfilled. Lost Boys and Pirates started to blur together like oil painting figures melting into each other. He ran for the opening between universes and caught the Captain's hand.

Jonathan didn't even have to jump into the portal this time; an irresistible force pulled him and the girls into the darkness, like someone on the other side had ropes around their waists. Again, he was swimming in something intangible but that still felt viscous and oddly solid, like not-quite-set Jell-o.

There was a shout that sounded something like 'Gotcha, codfish!' from behind them and then the portal was swallowed up by darkness. Instantaneously, another one opened directly beneath the three travelers and gravity took over suddenly, dropping them like stones. There was no hill to roll down, just an unnaturally soft, absurdly large haystack to get stuck in.

With a grunt and a groan, he fought his way out of the stuff and sat atop it. The surrounding countryside looked innocuous enough to Jonathan and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. It was a little too picturesque, a little too Van Gogh, but there weren't any children with rocks lurking anywhere. He could relax a little.

There were two identical crunching noises as Techie and the Captain dropped into their own haystack a few feet to his right. "Still in one piece?"

"Yeah. We're fine." The Captain sat up a little dazedly, bits of straw sticking out of the scarf on her head and pulled off her eye patch.

"Hey, Captain?" Techie said breathlessly, lying on her back in the straw, clearly exhausted.

The Captain looked at her. "Yes, Ops?"

"Roll, roll, roll in ze hay."

The Captain laughed so hard she rolled right off ze haystack.

Notes:

1. The sea shanty sung by the crew of the Jolly Roger is called 'Whale of a Tale' from the Disney film '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea'. You can probably find a clip of the song performed by Kirk Douglas on youtube. It makes me happy and I have no doubt that the Captain would teach it to the crew. I've seen her sing it.

2. Talk Like a Pirate Day is September 19th. It's a real internet-bred 'holiday', just like Double Steak Day, which isn't as much fun, by the way.

3. 'Desperta ferro!' is the war cry of an old order of specially trained soldiers-cum-mercenaries in Italy. It means 'Awake the iron!' Despite being half Italian, I don't speak the language (aside from a few choice insults), but it _is_ my favorite battle cry, other than, "The cheese stands alone!", but that really only works if you're a kamakaze Wisconsinite working alone.

4. I haven't read Peter Pan in er…holy crap, fifteen years? Wow. I'm getting old. Anyway. I hope there aren't too many inaccuracies, characterization-wise. Hook _is_ Eton educated, though. In the play, his last words are the Latin motto of the school.

5. The eye patch thing is true. Thank you, Mythbusters Pirate Special.

6. Pirates pwn Ninjas because I say so. Zombies pwn unicorns because John Green says so. (Google 'vlogbrothers' and watch John and Hank Green on youtube. You'll get it.)

7. This chapter is a referenceapalooza. Kudos to those who get the inside jokes.

8. Anyone care to venture a guess as to where they'll find Al? Anybody? :D C'mon, make a suggestion if you haven't got a guess. Where would _you_ like to see her turn up?


	5. Chapter 5

Jonathan slid off the haystack awkwardly and landed on one of his ankles. He winced and sucked air in through clenched teeth, but the pain was gone almost instantly, leaving him to stand up properly and give his surroundings a good look. The landscape was contrasting shades of green and brown, rolling hills and farmsteads stretching as far as the eye could see. There were patches of dark, scary woods spread here and there (one with an ivory tower standing amongst the trees) , but for the most part it was picturesque farmland.

Atop a hill in the distance, a small, squat castle stood silhouetted against the sky. It was made of slate gray stones, best as Jonathan could tell, and looked terribly run down. Further in the distance still an even more grandiose palace with magnificent spires of sparkling silver rose, cutting into the clouds. Beyond that, a stretch of blue that must have been a huge lake and a mountain range.

It really was quite beautiful.

He heard Techie as she scrabbled down from the haystack and helped the Captain up. He turned to look at them and noted just how absurd they appeared: Techie in her raggedy little dress and tattered, dirty pinafore and the Captain still in her pirate attire. Of course, he supposed he looked just as out of place, dressed as he was, but at least his own sackcloth garb was similar to what he usually wore.

"Where do you think we are?" the Captain asked breathlessly, shielding her eyes with her hand as she scanned the horizon.

Techie echoed her friend's movement and looked bewildered, brow furrowed and nose scrunched up. "That's not right," she muttered. "It _can't_ be."

"What?"

"I've been here already. I remember those." She pointed at the castles. "I mean, I saw them from a different angle, when I was leaving for grandma's house, but I remember them."

"This is Little Red Riding Hood's universe?" the Captain asked, picking pieces of hay off herself.

"You'd _think_ so," Techie said thoughtfully. "But I don't remember it being this extensive. I guess it looks different from out here and not in the middle of a village in the mountains."

Jonathan spoke up. "Could the program be malfunctioning? Sending us somewhere you've already been?"

"No. No, I don't think so." Techie straightened her dress and started walking towards the nearest fence that divided the hayfield from the road. Her companions followed. "If we were living out the same part of the program that I did, we'd be retracing my steps exactly. I think this story just shares an environment with mine, that's all. You know, like a theatre using the same sets for two different productions."

"So what story are we in?" the Captain asked, rounding yet another haystack. Her foot found something solid and she tripped, stumbling forward and only barely retaining her balance. "What the hell was--"

A little boy, roughly seven or eight years old, rosy cheeked and golden haired, sat slumped against the haystack, fast asleep. Next to him was a satchel that lay open, a shiny red apple with a few bites out of it that had been forgotten when he'd nodded off to sleep and a little brass horn next to that.

"He's _adorable_," she murmured, her expression turning soft and fond. "Who is he?"

"Little Boy Blue." Jonathan muttered in response.

Both the Captain and Techie looked at him. They felt like accusing stares.

"_What?_" he snapped. "Am I not allowed to know nursery rhymes?"

"We can't be stuck in a nursery rhyme," Techie said, pursing her lips in thought. "Nursery rhymes aren't long enough for the technology to construct a satisfying adventure for the user."

"Maybe he's just set dressing," the Captain replied, giving the boy one last glance before resuming walking. The wooden fence seemed unbelievably close, considering how far they had been from it mere moments before. It seemed like only a few steps before they were standing before the three tiered railing and scrambling over it.

"I suppose," Techie said with a grunt, swinging one leg over the fence, her dress getting caught on a rusty nail and tearing as she launched herself over the barrier.

Jonathan pulled himself over the fence with a little more grace than the girls did, but not much more.

The dirt road they now stood on stretched in either direction, a golden ribbon that cut across countless fields. To the left was an ominous looking forest while to the right was more friendly looking farm country.

"What do you figure?" Techie asked, the question directed at Jonathan.

"I thought _you_ were the expert here," he replied flatly.

She didn't bother to glare at him the way he thought she would.

"I vote we go through the spooky forest," the Captain piped up with a little too much enthusiasm.

"You _would_," Techie said with a roll of her eyes.

"Hey, all good stories have a spooky forest in them," she defended. "Nothing interesting ever happened out in the golden countryside."

Without another word, she turned and started for the forest, obviously expecting Techie and Jonathan to follow. However, she took five steps and slammed into something invisible that sent her sprawling.

"Captain!" Techie rushed to her side and helped the dazed henchgirl-cum-pirate sit up. "Are you okay?"

The Captain rubbed her forehead, bemused. "There's a wall there."

"We're stuck in a side scroller?"

"Must be." The Captain got to her feet. "I guess we go through Pleasant County whether I like it or not."

Jonathan, who watched this exchange impatiently, stood with his arms folded over his ribcage. When a hand clamped down over his shoulder, he let out an undignified yelp and spun on his heel, fists raised instinctively. The girls were at his side in an instant, invisible walls and spooky forests forgotten, but they needn't have bothered: the perceived threat was nothing but a willowy blonde in a shepherdess' habit who looked an awful lot like Harleen Quinzel.

"Excuse me, good sir," the blonde said politely, giving Jonathan a delicate curtsey, as though she hadn't nearly scared him out of his skin a few seconds earlier. "Have you seen my sheep?"

Jonathan looked at the vacant blonde and then cast his eyes to the field that stood directly behind her, adjacent to the hayfield that he and his henchgirls had just vacated. The field that was positively _thick_ with white, cottony sheep.

"Maybe you should check the fields," he replied dryly.

"I've looked everywhere for them," she said forlornly, her bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. "But I just can't seem to find them."

If he wasn't terribly mistaken, she was looking more and more like Harley by the second.

"I'm afraid I haven't, then."

Little Bo Peep's face fell and she looked positively inconsolable. "Oh. Well, thank you anyway, I suppose."

"Excuse me," the Captain chirped, sounding as cheerful as she possibly could. "Do you know where we are?"

Bo Peep looked more confused than ever, which was quite a feat. "Sorry?"

The Captain tried again. "I mean…can you tell us where we are?"

"Well, you're here, of course." Little Bo Peep glanced around. "Oh! There's my sheep!"

"Where's _here_?" the Captain asked, her patience clearly growing thin.

"Huh?" Bo Peep turned back from the field where her sheep were grazing and blinked. "Oh! Hello. Who are you?"

The Captain's left eyelid twitched. "I'm--"

"Have you seen my sheep?"

"No," she said shortly, grabbing both Jonathan and Techie by their arms and dragging them off down the road. "If you'll excuse us, we must be going."

"Fare thee well!" Bo Peep shouted after them cheerfully. "If you see my sheep--oh! There they are!"

---

After leaving Little Bo Peep, Jonathan, the Captain and Techie walked for miles, passing farmstead after farmstead without incident. Along the way, they passed a man with seven women trailing along behind him, each carrying a sack that meowed loudly, three little kittens bemoaning the loss of their mittens and a group of farm animals carrying instruments and merrily singing for no one in particular. As each of these groups passed, the three traveling companions grew more confused.

"I recognize them," Techie said as the Bremen Town musicians wandered out of earshot, "nursery rhymes and a folk tale, but I don't see how any of them could be the basis for an ANI adventure. It doesn't make sense. We aren't in the middle of a major storyline, just wandering around the scenery."

"And no sign of Al, either," the Captain added, somewhat worriedly.

"Unless she was the jackass." Jonathan jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction the animals had gone in.

"Very funny," Techie snapped, growing more irritable by the second.

"There's no need to get snippy," the Captain soothed, "we'll find her. There's got to be a road sign or _something_ around here to point us in the right direction. The program practically led me by the nose when I was confused during Peter Pan."

Techie opened her mouth to respond but instead paused, working her jaw in silence for a few moments. She tilted her head, as though listening to some far off sound and then her brow collapsed into a mass of crinkles.

The Captain and Jonathan shared a look. "Techie?"

She didn't answer for several seconds and when she finally did, her voice sounded meek. "Do you guys hear that?"

Jonathan strained his ears, listening as hard as he possibly could. Yes, somewhere beneath the sound of birds was the distant hum of music. Not folk music, either, no mandolins or flutes, which is what would be expected in such a rural setting, but instead, a piano, bass and guitar. The sound of an angry, discordant horn that was trying to play along with the first three instruments overlaid the harmonious melody, almost ruining it.

The Captain's eyes went wide. "Is that _jazz_?"

Her face lit up and she broke into a run in the direction Jonathan guessed the music was coming from. The only explanation she offered was shouted back over her shoulder, "If there's one place Al will be, it's where the music's at!"

Techie took off after her, a bit slower and he followed, walking at a perfectly reasonable pace. Much as he wanted to find Al and finally escape from this crazy place, there was no need for dramatics. He guessed it was nearly a mile of walking before he finally stopped. He passed two fields before catching up with his henchgirls, one that contained another pile of straw and the second a massive pile of firewood. A small, squat brick building with a sign hanging above the door that read "_House of Bricks_" was beyond them and that is where the Captain and Techie had stopped.

The Captain stood hunched over, pressing her hand to the center of her chest and Techie hovered over her, patting her on the back comfortingly as she angrily muttered about suck-lungs. The music was indeed coming from inside the House of Bricks and Jonathan took a moment to further study the building. It was rather out of place with the surrounding countryside, a modern building in a place that seemed, for the most part, to be trapped in the fourteenth century. More puzzling still was the fact that the cornerstone of the building had the number '1776' stamped into it, as though that's when it had been erected.

Another sign, this one actually on the door itself, read 'No Wolves Allowed' and beneath it, crumpled like he'd taken a nasty beating, sat a wolf like none Jonathan had ever seen. He was built more like a man than an animal, wearing the most garish yellow pants and burgundy suit jacket the Scarecrow had ever seen. Beside him there was a trumpet, crushed nearly beyond recognition and on his head sat a cap like those that countless cabbies in Gotham wore.

By the time Jonathan finished giving the place the once over, the Captain had recovered and was flapping her hands excitedly.

"I know where we are!"

He turned to her, surprised. "You _do_?"

She beamed. "Remember the story of the three little pigs?"

"Yes--"

"One played the pipe and the others danced jigs?"

"I said--"

"The three little pigs are still around," she continued with a flourish, "but they're playing music with a _modern_ sound."

"Why the devil are you _rhyming_?"

"Not rhyming," the Captain said happily. "Quoting."

"Quoting," he repeated dubiously. "Quoting _what_?"

"Friz Freling, of course." She turned her attention to the House of Bricks. "_The Three Little Bops._ It's an old Warner Brothers cartoon about the Three Little Pigs. A modern jazz interpretation of the story."

"I remember that one," Techie said with a thoughtful frown. "But what the heck is it doing _here_?"

"I dunno. I mean, they couldn't really market this story to anybody--who wants to be a piano playing pig?" The Captain shrugged. "But I betcha somebody inside the House of Bricks can point us in the right direction."

After the three companions made their way up the walk and opened the door to the building, they found a smoky tavern/eatery inside, populated with all sorts of strange people. The bartender was some sort of beast with a lion's head on a man's body and the bar patrons were just as odd. Seven little men, each a little under five feet tall, sat at a table crying into their ale, their pickaxes and shovels leaning against the nearest wall. Across from them, another table was populated with tiny people no bigger than a man's thumb, all of them dancing merrily on the tabletop. Every table was crowded with the most extraordinary beings and at the far wall, on a makeshift stage, sat the three little pigs, all dressed like swingin'est cats who ever lived, playing their instruments.

"The Beast, the seven dwarves, Thumbelina doing the rumba with Tom Thumb," the Captain commented. "We're in _fairytale land_? Now that's just plain silly."

"Excuse us!" Techie called to no one in particular, just hoping _someone_ would answer.

Nobody acknowledged her presence, except for the bass playing pig, who nodded his head at her and then jerked it back, indicating that she should come on over.

She glanced at the Captain and Jonathan and then shrugged before making her way to the stage. The platform the pigs played on was surrounded by a railing and she leaned over it so she could shout over the din.

"That's a real hot little number!"

The pig gave her a wink and shouted back. "Some like it hot."

Techie cracked a smile. "Do you know 'After You Get What You Want, You Don't Want It'?"

He smiled back at her pleasantly, not looking at all grotesque like one might expect a pig to if it grinned. "No, but if you hum a few bars, we can fake it. You wanna sing?"

"Some other time, maybe," she answered with a flush. "Actually, I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Sure thing, toots."

"I'm looking for somebody. There's this girl who's a friend of mine. Her name is Al and--"

Suddenly, the door to the tavern blew open and a freezing wind rushed into the room, calling everyone's attention. The music died and the pig stared past Techie to the traveler standing in the doorway. Techie turned to look at him as well. A wounded knight, in full plate armor, staggered into the bar. He collapsed, just a few feet into the room and none of the natives made a move to rush to his side.

When nobody else went to help him, the Captain and Techie hurried over, the Captain reaching him first and dropping down on the floor next to him.

She reached for his helmet, touched it for just a moment and then drew back with a yelp. "His armor's _hot._"

Techie stripped off her pinafore and used it like an oven mitt, prying the faceplate open so the man underneath could breathe. By this time, Jonathan had decided to stand over them and survey the scene.

The knight was a mess under the metal; his hair was smoking, his skin was badly burned and his eyebrows were completely singed off.

He moved to speak, his dry lips cracking with the effort.

The Captain called for water and a pitcher was immediately delivered by the barkeep. Carefully, she tipped some of it into the knight's mouth and he drank greedily.

"Thank you, dear lady," he rasped, dissolving into a coughing fit. He reached out for the Captain but when she shrank away from the heat of his gauntlet, he let his arm drop. "I am Sir Sweet of the Kingdom of Low."

The Captain and Techie shared a look but managed not to burst into highly inappropriate giggles. Jonathan smothered a laugh of his own with his hand.

"What happened to you?" Techie asked, her hands hovering over him. She clearly wanted to comfort him, but his armor was still too hot to touch.

"The Dread Dragon Roberts," he replied with another cough.

This time it was Techie and the Captain who had to stifle their snickers.

"He guards a princess most fair, in the uppermost room of the castle upon Mount Von Doom--"

Three identical snorts.

"He has taken her captive. A knight must race to her rescue before it is too late." Sir Sweet's tone was distressed. "I have failed her. I have failed her highness."

A shudder passed through his body then causing Sir Sweet's armor to clatter against itself. Suddenly, nothing was funny about this.

"You, good sir," Sir Sweet reached a hand towards Jonathan. "You have aristocratic features, despite the common state of your dress. Are you of noble blood?"

"_Noble_ _blood_? I think you--"

The Captain jabbed her elbow into Jonathan's shin and spoke over him. "He is. He is…uh…Sir Scare of Crow. Traveling incognito."

"You're rhyming again," Techie mumbled. The Captain shushed her.

Sir Sweet looked pleased--at least, as much as he possibly could in the middle of his death throes. "Then you, sir: I charge you with the quest that I have failed at. I pray you slay the dragon and rescue the princess. Avenge me!"

With his plot point pushed as far as it could possibly go, Sir Sweet gave one final shiver and died dramatically, tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.

"Sir Scare of Crow?" Jonathan slanted his eyes at the Captain. She gave him a little glare.

"My _first_ instinct was Sir Squishy of the Rumbling Tummy." She gestured at the body of Sir Sweet. "You heard the man's dying delivery: a knight has to rescue the princess. A knight must be of noble blood."

He narrowed his eyes. "And _what_ makes you think I'm going to be rescuing any princesses?"

"He did wander into the bar the _second_ I asked the pig about Al, like the program was delivering the information in an adventure-appropriate way," Techie said logically. "And besides, who else would have a champion named Sir Sweet of Low, be guarded by the Dread Dragon Roberts and be held captive in a castle on a mountain named after Doctor Doom? It sure as hell ain't Cinderella."

Sir Sweet's armor rattled, drawing their attention back to it, but when they peered into the helmet, Sir Sweet wasn't there. Furthermore, the armor had changed: where it had been slightly tarnished and scorched before, now it gleamed like highly polished silver.

"Hey, look," the Captain picked up the chest plate, which now had a crow etched on it, "this place has a wardrobe department that delivers."

"I am _not _being anyone's knight in shining armor," Jonathan snapped.

The Captain and Techie looked at each other, then up at him. "How much you wanna bet?"

---

Half an hour later, Jonathan Crane, Sir Scare of Crow, sat astride the white steed that belonged to the now deceased Sir Sweet of Low. He wore the chest plate, gauntlets and helmet, but the legs of the suit of armor were for a man with muscles, not a scrawny fellow like him, so they were left behind. Sir Sweet's sword hung in its scabbard on his saddle and with every five steps the horse took, the helmet slammed itself shut, meaning he had to push it open again if he wanted to be heard.

The further they traveled, Jonathan noticed, the more people they saw. Farmers worked their fields, children played in front of homesteads and countless animals of all types grazed in the meadows. They crossed a stream, ignoring the troll muttering about tricky, tricky Billy goats beneath the bridge and a village became visible in the distance.

"We don't even know where this--" the helmet slammed shut, "mmassle mmmossely sss." He fought it open. "We don't know where this _princess_ is."

"Princesses generally live in castles," the Captain sighed. "Or ivory towers."

"I see two castles--" the helmet closed again, "mmnd mmm mvry mmmr." With a grunt, he pushed it open. "I'm not running a rescue mission inside _all_ of them."

"We won't have to." Techie adjusted the horse's rein around her hand as she kept pace with it. "I'm sure we'll to find _something_ that will lead us to the dragon--"

She trailed off and stared straight ahead in shock. Running down the road towards them, flailing his arms wildly and screeching like a banshee, was a man. It was no wonder he was acting this way. After all, he was _on fire._

He ran past them, screaming and gibbering, a human inferno.

"Something like _that_, for example," Techie concluded, watching him go.

"Stop, drop and roll!" the Captain shouted after the flaming peasant helpfully.

The flap of an enormous pair of wings from overhead ruffled the girls' hair and spooked Jonathan's horse. It took both the Captain and Techie to calm it down enough to keep it from running off with Jonathan stuck on its back. They all looked up to see the Dread Dragon Roberts, a massive green lizard with shiny silver scales all along its belly and gigantic claws clutching a cow that made noises that one had to assume were the bovine equivalent of "HELP! POLICE! COWNAP!"

Jonathan's eyes went buggy inside his head as the beast flew over them. It took in a breath, chest expanding, and exhaled purple flames, torching the nearest hovel. More flaming peasants dashed out of the burning building, screaming and running past. The Captain didn't bother to share any safety tips with them, though. There didn't seem much point.

"Oh, my God. That's a _dragon_," Techie said with a gulp that still somehow sounded reverent.

"You have a gift for stating the overwhelmingly obvious," the Captain responded, awed by the terrifying, albeit magnificent, creature.

The animal shrieked, an ear shattering call that caused Jonathan's ribcage to vibrate inside his skin and clang against his armor.

"Well, it's not voiced by Sean Connery," the Captain made a happy sound, "but it _does_ make the Godzilla noise!"

Another hut went up in flames, the heat of the blaze drying out Jonathan's skin and making his eyes water. The girls started tugging at his legs.

"Go, Squishy! Slay the dragon!"

"You do realize I've never fought--" SLAM, "mmagon mmmre?" He irritably opened the helmet again. "I am _not_ exactly an intimidating physical specimen!"

"You're the hero," Techie said, handing his sword up to him. Reluctantly, he pulled it from its scabbard and frowned at its lightness. It weighed less than a pound, surely it wouldn't be much use against a dragon. Next, she secured his shield to his arm, also lighter than the heaviest of cardboards. "The hero _always_ wins."

"Except when he's Sir Sweet--" The helmet closed. "Mmssammrassin mmickin mmmphmphmmah!" He didn't bother to open it again.

"If Peter MacNicol can do it," the Captain cheered, giving the horse a hard slap on its hind flank, "so can you! Go get 'em, Squishy!"

The horse took off like a shot. It took all Jonathan's strength to keep from falling off. For the first few seconds, he was nothing but a rattling mass of clumsy limbs, hanging on for dear life, but he quickly found his rhythm and moved _with_ the horse, instead of against it. He kept his knees tight to the animal's frame and leaned forward, the arm with the shield attached to it thrust in front of him, protecting his torso. The other arm held his sword aloft, angled so that if the dragon swept forward, it would get stabbed.

As though sensing instinctively that a new foe was suddenly on its tail, the dragon turned in midair and snarled. The cow continued to moo anxiously, kicking at the nothingness beneath it. The dragon tipped its head at Jonathan as the horse galloped closer, looking at him appraisingly for a moment.

Then, it threw its head back and shrieked again, but the sounded wavered, rising and falling in pitch oddly.

Jonathan came to the realization it was _laughing_ at him.

He gritted his teeth and charged. In response, the dragon opened its claws--dropping the cow fifty feet where it landed in the soft hay of a thatched roof, amazingly unharmed--and flew at Jonathan like a dive bomber.

Both the horse and Jonathan seemed to lose their nerve at the exact same moment and veered off course, mere moments before they would have clashed with the dragon. Unlike Jonathan, however, the dragon had lost none of its nerve and turned to catch up with them. The makeshift knight rode for all he was worth, but it didn't matter. The dragon was faster and in just the space of a few breaths, Jonathan felt cold talons closing around him, pressing him into the horse's back more firmly.

With a thrust of its powerful wings, the dragon lifted both Jonathan and his horse off the ground. Its grip on the horse wasn't all that great and after a second, it dropped the horse. The steed landed on the same roof that the cow had and they whinnied and mooed at each other, presumably comparing traumatic dragon-related experiences.

The dragon flew higher and higher, clutching Jonathan so tightly that his chest plate dented inwards and pressed into his skin. He thrashed as much as his current predicament would allow and his helmet fell off. He tried not to watch as it fell to the ground and was flattened on impact. The technology hadn't hurt him yet--much--and every injury he'd sustained had been superficial. Hopefully…hopefully a drop from this height wouldn't kill him if it was virtual.

Taking in a fortifying breath, Jonathan drew his sword up and slapped the foot that had him in its grasp. The sword didn't feel very menacing in his hands, but the dragon let out a cry of pain in response. It blew a plume of fire at the man it held in its claws, but missed. Jonathan swung the sword again, this time gaining a little more momentum and the cry of agony the strike elicited from the giant lizard was even more dramatic.

Jonathan felt himself being pulled backwards as the dragon swung him. Back and forth, back and forth, until its talons opened and he went flying up past the dragon's face. He flew up, up, and then back down towards the open, waiting jaws of the beast. It had situated itself beneath him, ready to gobble him up.

Thinking quickly, Jonathan flung the sword straight down, the blade heading right for the dragon's gullet and prayed the laws of physics would be a little more flexible than they were in reality.

Luck was on his side and the sword shot right down the dragon's throat. It gagged and choked, grabbing its long, slender neck with its front claws. Its bright golden eyes, flecked with emerald green, bulged as it tried to breathe. Its efforts were fruitless and it fell from the sky, clawing at the air. Jonathan didn't have time to cheer at his good fortune, gravity was a much more pressing concern. As the dragon fell, so did he.

Almost in unison, both combatants reached the earth: the dragon crushing a barn beneath its immense body, and a few seconds later, Jonathan slamming into the surface of a nearby lake. It was like slamming into a concrete wall, anguish crashing into every inch of his skin, pins and needles driving into every muscle. His breath was stolen from him, his lungs felt like they'd been crushed on impact and when he unconsciously tried to catch a mouthful of air, a mouthful of water was his reward.

The lake was freezing cold and Jonathan was sure he was going to die. His limbs went numb, his armor--far too heavy to swim with, even if he had the strength after such a water landing--dragged him down deeper. He felt light headed and--

And…

And…

Everything went dark.

---

Jonathan sputtered, flapping his hands and slapping at whoever was touching him. He coughed up several ounces of water and then took a breath, deep as he dared. Someone helped him to sit up and pried his chest plate off. He could breathe much more freely once that was done and he finally opened his eyes. The Captain and Techie both stood over him, and he was encircled by scorched villagers, some of them still smoking.

"Jonathan, you're alive!"

"Oh, thank God!"

The peasants cheered as he was dragged to his feet, the girls standing on either side of him and serving as his crutches.

"Listen well, peasants! Jonathan, Sir Scare of Crow, son of Crane, hath slew the dragon!"

"Slain," the Captain corrected.

"Shut up," Techie said from the corner of her mouth before she continued addressing the peasants. "The dragon is no more!"

"It has ceased to be!" the Captain added with a giggle.

"It is an ex-dragon!"

Jonathan groaned. The peasants hoisted him up on their shoulders, cheering for Sir Scare of Crow. He was in no condition to fight his way free from the adoring masses, so he let it happen.

---

After having sufficient time to recover and being fed by the grateful peasants, Jonathan, the Captain and Techie started out again, this time each of them on a horse supplied by the villagers. The steed of Sir Sweet was left in the inn's stable with the cow--who was seemingly in shock--to live out the remainder of his days. The road was long and it took many hours of travel to make it to the glittering palace at the base of Mount Von Doom, but they finally made it. Curiously, the sun stayed in the exact same position the entire time, placing the estimated time of day as being somewhere around noon.

On the way to the palace, they passed the short, squat gray castle, ancient, grown over with vines as well as the ivory tower, which had a long golden braid hanging from its single window.

The palace was immense, unguarded and empty, as the Captain, Jonathan and Techie dismounted and entered it, the grand staircase stretching before them. They ascended--climbing the vast number of stairs that seemed to go on forever--and finally reached the highest point in the castle, all of them quite out of breath. The door to the highest tower room was painted white, jewel encrusted and it didn't creak when Jonathan turned the handle and pushed it in.

The room was flooded with sunlight, the walls covered with gloriously intricate stained glass windows. In the very center of the stained glass was a plain window and standing in the middle of it stood a young woman with her back to them, dressed in fine ivory silk, her long red hair trailing down her back.

They looked at each other, frowning. The girl at the window was most definitely _not_ Al.

She turned and graced them with a smile, but then her expression changed to one of puzzlement. She looked Jonathan up and down and became distressed.

"Oh!" The princess exclaimed, her hands pressed against her cheeks in a silent film star's show of surprise. "You're not Prince Charming."

"Not even close," he retorted. "Are you the princess who was in the dragon's keep?"

Her eyebrows knit together. "Oh, no. _I'm_ guarded by the kraken in the lake at the base of Mount Doom."

"We're looking for the princess who was guarded by the _dragon._"

"He killed it," the Captain said proudly, cuffing Jonathan on the shoulder affectionately, "so he could rescue his lady fair."

Jonathan glared at the Captain but the princess didn't notice.

"I'm sorry," she replied, genuinely apologetic, "but _your_ princess is in another castle."

---

Half an hour after leaving the glittering palace, they found themselves standing before the rotting vine covered castle. The doors were grown over as well, so they had to fight the greenery to get through.

"This seems vaguely familiar," Techie said thoughtfully, tugging at some of the vines. "But I can't remember what it's from."

"This would be easier if we had something long and pokey." The Captain grunted, using all her weight to pull the vines taut until they snapped.

"Oh, gosh golly gee whiz, I am _so_ sorry I lost my sword in a dragon's belly," Jonathan retorted, shoving some of the plants out of the way.

With a clatter, a skeleton fell from above, dislodged by their heave-ho-ing and landed in the dust. It wore armor and was accompanied by a rusted sword.

The Captain's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's handy."

Techie had stopped working at the vines and stared at the misshapen corpse in horror the moment it hit the ground. "Captain, get away from the castle."

"What?"

"Do it!"

She stepped away and Jonathan followed suit, knowing that Techie probably had a very good reason to sound so anxious.

"Not you, Squishy," she instructed, "you pick up the sword and get to chopping."

He goggled at her. "_Why_? Why only me?"

"We can't," Techie said. "I know this story. Only a man can enter this castle. If we try…" she drew her finger across her throat and made a comical noise.

"What--"

"Get to work. We'll go water the horses." She gave him a shove towards the castle, then picked up the sword and forced it into his hand. After this, she grabbed the Captain's hand and started tugging her away. "Be careful."

"I don't remember any story with a princess who could _only_ be rescued by a man," the Captain said as she was led down the forest path, away from Jonathan and the castle, towards the tree where the horses were tied.

"I censored the plot a little for easier consumption," Techie hissed under her breath.

"What? _Why_?"

Techie pulled the Captain a little more urgently. "She can only be rescued by her _true love_."

---

Left alone, Jonathan hacked and slashed at the vines covering the entrance to the castle with reckless abandon. He wasn't nearly as sore as he probably should have been after tangling with that dragon and the physical exertion felt good. Working out all his frustrations with this whole crazy affair was therapeutic and in a very short time, he cleared the doorway. There was more growth to fight through beyond the first layer and he got tangled at least half a dozen times before he pushed his way through to the courtyard.

Spitting leaves, he made it into the wide open space and found dozens of castle occupants lying on the ground, apparently dead. He frowned. That didn't make sense. The growth over the castle was the result of many years, but these corpses were fresh.

Puzzled, he made his way across the square, past a fountain that was no longer running, past another dozen bodies and through another layer of bottle green creepers. He was sweating by the time he struggled into the castle itself. The kitchens were also full of carcasses, the hallways, the armory, even the throne room, where the king and queen still sat upon their thrones, slumped as though the victims of poison.

He cut a swath through three more walls of lush growth and stumbled past a crumpled old woman into a bedchamber. The room was white, airy and well lit. Silver vanity tables and marvelous cherry wood furniture inlaid with abalone were scattered in the space. At the very center of the room, beneath a canopy of sheer white fabric, laid out on a king sized bed, was Al. Her hair--long and wavy, but still in its customary shades of black and purple--spread out on her pillow and she wore a dress of lavender blue, the only spot of color in the otherwise pallid room.

Every ounce of tension in Jonathan's frame dissolved and he let his sword arm drop to his side. He cast his eyes heavenward, remembered he was an atheist with no one to complain to and then looked back at his henchgirl.

"Sleeping Beauty." He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead in annoyance. "You _must_ be joking."

He knew good and well what requirements were to end _this_ particular story, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to fulfilling them. He dawdled a bit, walking to her side as slowly as he possibly could while still actually moving and then sat down next to her on the bed.

_There must be some way around the whole kiss clause…_

He grabbed her by the shoulder and shook. "Al! We brought home gooey fries!"

She didn't stir.

He shook harder. "Al, Techie and Captain are dead."

Still nothing.

"Al! My life is in peril!"

And…again, nothing.

Great. Just _great_.

"Uncooperative, stubborn--" he leaned forward, scrunching his eyes closed, "insufferable woman."

Her skin was cold as marble as he pressed his lips to hers, and he found they fit together a bit _too_ perfectly for his liking. He held his position until some warmth crept back into her flesh and then he pulled away to watch her.

Her cheeks warmed, a blush infusing the pale with a rosy glow. Her chest moved as she pulled in breath and her eyes opened slowly, dazedly. Al blinked a few times, waiting for her vision to clear and for things to come into focus.

"Jonathan?" she whispered before her lips stretched into a smile. "My hero."

---

With a blinding flash of light, Jonathan found himself back inside Lexcorp's laboratory. He lurched away from the girls, who also came out of stasis and staggered away from the ANI device.

"Wow," the Captain breathed, holding her forehead. "What a rush."

"I feel sick," Techie muttered, leaning over and bracing her hands on her knees.

"I'm dizzy," Al added, leaning heavily on one of the tables--mercifully not the one that held the ANI device.

Jonathan didn't complain, though his head felt like its top was about to come off and his stomach rolled around inside his gut like it was trying to make an escape, he just put as much distance between him and the ANI device as possible.

"That thing is going to kill somebody," he mumbled, rubbing at his throat with one hand.

"Side effects," the Captain replied, waving a hand, "it's just a beta model. They'll get the kinks worked out before they release it to the public."

Jonathan picked up the nearest heavy object--he had no idea what it was, it didn't matter--and started for the ANI device. "We should destroy it."

Inexplicably, all three girls leapt in front of it, protectively. "Don't you _dare_! It's worth too much!"

"We could have been stuck in stasis like that _forever_," he grumbled, tossing his bludgeoning weapon aside.

Techie grew thoughtful. "Stuck in a storybook…_forever._"

Al caught on first and spun on her heel, avoiding touching the ANI device as she sifted through the cartridges on the table beside it. "Who do we know who would like _that_ sort of fate?"

The Captain stripped off her jacket and lunged for the device, wrapping it up tightly without touching it once.

"What are you _doing_?"

"It's too dangerous to leave this thing lying around where just any old body might try to steal it--"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, so bringing it _home_ is logical?"

"No, no. We're not bringing it home," the Captain said with a disturbing twinkle in her eye. "We're donating it."

"I suppose it's going to live on a farm with lots of rabbits to chase and plenty of room to play," he responded sullenly.

"Better."

---

Jervis Tetch awoke in his hideout the next morning to find a box, tied with ribbons of various colors and a long winded note tacked to the top detailing the technical specifications of the items inside it.

Inside the box, beneath the carefully bundled up ANI device, under all the blueprints and documentation the girls had been able to find on the machine was an adventure cartridge.

_Alice in Wonderland_.

---

A/N: And there you have it, the end. This ending is actually what inspired the writing of this story in the first place, oh so long ago.

This chapter was another referencapalooza, just like the last was, so major points to everyone who can name three or more. (If you don't know them all and are curious, feel free to ask and I'll tell you!) Also, I encourage you all to look up _The Three Little Bops_ over on YouTube. It was one of my favorite cartoons as a kid.

Thanks for reading, kiddos! Try the veal, tip your waitress and make sure it's more than twenty percent if you want to get on the Captain's good side.

Also, you should all go see the catverse website (catverse. com) for some exciting news! Massive, important, oh my gosh amazing crazyawesomeholycrap NEWS!


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